After the War Chronicles: The Thief and the Archer
by Mike Canary
Summary: Colm and Neimi wanted a quiet life, with their son, Zethla. Of course, the world had other plans, and soon, the two of them would be tested like never before. Colm/Neimi oneshot. Not real angsty, but a little sad. Takes place 23 years after the game.


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Really enjoyed writing this. Hope you enjoy reading it. Although I say it's complete, I might continue to write about what happened to the rest after the war, if this gets enough reviews. I'm not going to lie, I'm a guy and I just hate myself for writing a romance. But, i think it turned out really nicely.

Neimi jumped back, barely dodging another projectile launched from above. Even as she did, a second followed, winging towards her face like a bullet. She bent backwards, back bent like a drawn bow and the missile barely missed her nose. From above, mocking laughter rang out from her assailant's hidden position among the branches.

"Ha ha! I thought you were supposed to be a great archer. Looks like I surpassed the great Neimi! Ha!" Neimi looked down at her feet, eyes fervently searching for, ah, there it is. A small smooth pebble lying on the dusty road. Picking it up, she felt its smooth surface. Not the most aerodynamic weapon in the world, but it would suffice. Cocking her arm back, she hurled it into the mass of branches above her. This was followed with by a sharp crack and a yelp of both pain and surprise as a young boy of twelve fell from the tree. He landed with a dull thud, crumpled in a heap and clutching his forehead where a lump was forming.

"Owwww!" The young boy groaned, "What was that for Mom!" Neimi smiled at her young son, Zethla, who nimbly jumped up to his feet and began gathering the little darts he used as arrows for his toy bow off the ground.

"Well, I told you to come down for dinner." Neimi said, kneeling down to her son and checking his head. "You'll be all right. It's not even going to bruise." Seeing a smudge of dirt on her son's face, she stuck her thumb in her mouth and tried to rub the smudge off.

"What were you doing up there anyways?" She asked helping her son to her feet.

"Dad taught me how to climb trees yesterday." He said grinning up at her. "He said I could be as good as him one day, with practice." Neimi smiled at her son. Zethla looked so much like Colm, wiry and sharp eyed. His blue hair was longer and shaggier than his father's though, and her slightly violet eyes were definitely hers.

"You're just like your father when he was your age." She told him. "But even he needed to eat every once in a while. Go on, I'll meet you back at the house." She shouldered her bow as Zethla scampered away, jumping over fallen trees and swinging off of branches.

"_He is like Colm."_ Neimi thought happily. _"Hopefully, he'll get into less trouble then we did."_ She turned and headed into the woods, wondering where Colm was right now.

* * *

"Get back here!" the shop owner roared waving his club over his head. Colm, watched from across the street, fascinated. The little punk was doing well, dodging and weaving through the crowds and alleyways. He barely disturbed anyone, managing to run pell-mell without bumping anybody. All the while holding onto the small loaf of bread in his hands. The shop owner on the other hand was constantly berated and distracted by the townsfolk, who roared insults at the man as he ran into people. He quickly fell behind the thief.

"He's good." Colm said taking a sip from his drink. "Hard to believe I used to be like that." He leaned back in his chair and put his boots up onto the table. The barkeep glared at him, but said nothing. After all Colm was a war hero. He'd helped save the world, and that gave one certain privileges.

The boy disappeared from view, fleeing to the outside of the city. No way would they catch him now. Colm knew that once the little thief got to the woods, he'd probably hide out for a while. Colm had done the same thing when he was younger. Draining his glass in a single gulp, Colm stood up, sighed and left the bar, striding down the street. Maybe he'd go home for a while. Neimi would have gotten a deer by now, and knowing her, it was already almost roasted and seasoned perfectly with those herbs she found in the woods.

"Mmmmm." Colm said to no one in particular. "I can almost taste it." He left the town, walking along the small dirt trail towards home. He and Neimi had built the cabin on the fringes of the woods, close enough to the town for them to remain in the community, but far away enough for Colm to stay out of trouble. At least, that'd been the plan.

As he continued down the trail, Colm noticed something moving along the horizon atop a hill to his left, silhouetted against the sun. It was some type of animal from the looks of it, crawling along. He stopped and stared, squinting against the sun.

"_No,"_ he thought surprised, _"Not an animal, a man!"_ Trotting towards the figure, he instinctively reached beneath his cloak for the tiny dagger hidden underneath. No point in being careless. However, as he came closer, he saw the man wasn't wearing the clothes of a brigand or criminal, but the distinct armor of a Renais cavalier. And it was, in fact, not a man, but a woman.

"Help…" the young girl croaked, clutching her bloodied side. An arrow was buried into her side between the cracked red armor. She was blond, with short hair meant to fit into an armored helm, and green eyes that looked up at Colm in desperation.

"Okay," Colm said kneeling down to check her side. "It's all right. The wound is mostly superficial. Just a lot of blood. Here, I'll help you up." He wrapped the girl's left arm around his shoulders and grabbed the back of the woman's belt with his right hand, pulling her up.

"Thanks." The girl rasped quietly. "I- I've got to tell you-."

"Quiet." Colm growled. "You need to conserve your energy. I'm taking you to my house." The girl looked like she was going to open her mouth again, but then nodded and sagged, unconscious. Colm grunted, dragging the girl along the trail to his house.

* * *

Neimi had grown up in woods. She'd been taught how to hunt, to track and to shoot in woods. She was one of the best shots she knew, and had even once fought alongside the great royalty of the world, including Prince Innes of Frelia, who was one of the continents greatest archers. So, when she spotted a small group of brigands tramping noisily through the trees, it was a small matter for her to crawl on her belly towards them, observing them over the crest of a small hill.

They were big hulking men, with old weapons and tattered armor. Looking carefully, she thought she recognized some of the armor as that worn by Renais soldiers.

"_I should probably get back to the house."_ She thought backing away from the group. _"I've got to warn Colm and Zethla."_ As she edged away, she turned and sprinted away as quietly as she could. Nocking an arrow, her eyes flashed right and left, searching for enemies among the trees as she ran.

Of course, she didn't bother to look up, which is exactly where the axe wielding thug dropped from. He came roaring some guttural war cry. Neimi looked up; quickly bring her bow up and loosing an arrow. The arrow struck the man in the chest, and for a moment, he seemed to freeze in the air above her before he crashed down onto her, pinning her to the ground. Of course, by then he was dead. Unfortunately, his companions were not. They dropped out of the trees around her, drawing swords and axes from their rough fur belts.

"Look what we found." Their leader, a big mercenary with a chipped and rusty sword said. "Guess we were right to post sentries in the trees, huh." The thugs around him mumbled some vulgar words in agreement and circled her.

"You gentlemen, leave her to me." The big mercenary said, advancing on her. "Go back and tell the main force to get moving." The thugs nodded and stomped off in the other direction, heading deep into the woods. The mercenary was above her now, his stained and rusting sword raised above her head like a guillotine.

"Looks like you were outfought." He said before bring the weapon down in a powerful blow. Neim closed her eyes, waiting for the swift rush of death. Instead, all she heard was the gasp of the man as a pair of blades rose from his chest.

"Looks like you were outthought." Colm growled from behind the man. "You think you can climb trees? Ha, I can climb higher." The man fell forward, sliding off Colm's knives.

"So this is why you weren't at home." He said pushing the dead brigand off of her. "I don't suppose you got any food?" Neimi sat up, rubbing her shoulder with a groan.

"Do you really think that's what we should be worrying about right now?" She said grabbing her bow and quiver off the ground. "Where's Zethla? Did you just leave him at home?"

"Oh," Colm said stowing his daggers back in the inside of his cloak. "You're not gonna cry again are you?" Neimi wiped away a small flow of tears before they became visible.

"No," she said, beginning to run through the woods back to their cabin, followed by Colm. "I'm just worried about our son. Is he alone?" Colm hesitated, then shook his head.

"No, but I don't think that Zethla's the one who's in danger."

Neimi looked at Colm for a moment, but quickly decided she didn't want to know.

* * *

When Neimi saw the young cavalier sprawled out on her bed, she was shocked to find Zethla pestering a young lady whose bandaged side was still leaking blood. Not exactly what she'd expected. She was even more surprised by how familiar the young lady looked. It was as if looking at her had sparked off some distant, long buried memory.

Neimi caught Colm's eye and jerked her head towards the door of the cabin. Once outside, Neimi decided to ask the obvious.

"Why is there a wounded knight in our house?" She asked controlling her voice the best she could. "Normally, I'm all for guests, but I draw the line at people who spill blood all over the floor."

"I found her along the road." Colm explained quickly. "She's been wounded by an arrow. I applied some vulnerably and the bleedings stopped, so I thought maybe now would be the time to ask her some questions." He looked at her, cocking his head. "She looks familiar to you, doesn't she?"

"Yeah," Neimi agreed, "She really does. Where have we seen her though?"

"That's the first question I'll ask, that and why she's in this condition."

"We were ordered to clear out a group of bandits in the northern mountains." The young knight began. She was sitting up in the bed while Neimi reapplied some bandages to her side. "We expected very little resistance and our force consisted mostly of a few cavaliers and soldiers from the local garrisons. The bandits were supposed to be untrained thugs with more muscle then brain, and there weren't supposed to be a lot of them. But, there were. A ton. Somehow, they'd hired mercenaries. Professionals. They ambushed us on the mountain pass. I was hit first, some archer from above. My commander told me to run and alert the garrison, but they were behind us to. By the time I managed to fight through their line, the rest of the force was…" She fell silent and Neimi bowed her head, knowing what she was going through.

"The thing that bothers me, is why those mercenaries agreed to fight for the thugs." Colm said musingly. "There's no way bandits could afford to hire professionals. And what about the bandits we met in the woods?" He said to Neimi. "Were they members of that group?"

"More likely than not." Neimi said nodding. "Remember what that leader told his men? He told them to go back and alert the main force." Colm looked up, understanding dawning on his face.

"That's how they're going to pay the mercenaries." He said jumping to his feet. "They're going to attack the village and plunder it!" Neimi and the cavalier looked taken aback.

"What made you come to that conclusion?" The cavalier asked.

"Think about it." Colm said insistently. "The bandits we met had mercenaries with them, and they talked about a "main force" that was on the move. What else could it be?" All three of them exchanged grim looks, worried.

"We've got to evacuate the town." Neimi said finally. "If the bandits get attack, it'll be a massacre."

"Yeah," Colm agreed, "But how do we get them to leave? Even if they believed us, it would take forever for everyone to gather supplies and leave. Even then, they might be hunted down on the road." The three of them sat for several moments in deep thought. It was a big problem. Either scenario, staying and waiting, or running for the hills would end with people dying.

"We could send for reinforcements." The Cavalier suggested. "There's a garrison to the east of us. My father runs the garrison, so I could probably get him to send his whole battalion." Again, this sparked Neimi's interest as to who the young cavalier was.

"Who are your parents?" she finally asked. The young knight looked surprised for a moment, then flushed a little in embarrassment.

"Franz of Renais." She murmured. "He was one of the heroes of the War of the Stones." And Colm just burst out laughing.

"You've got to be kidding me!" He said, leaning on a table.

"We knew your father." Neimi told the bewildered knight with a grin. "We also fought in the War of the Stones. I'm Neimi, and this is my husband, Colm." The knight's eyes widened in surprise.

"My father and mother talked about you." She told them excitedly. The girl pointed at Neimi. "You were supposed to be the best shot in the regiment, and you…" She cocked her head at Colm.

"Actually, they said you stole some of their stuff." Colm feigned shock and innocence.

"What, me, I'd ne-."

"Forget it Colm." Neimi interrupted. Turning back to the girl, she asked, "What's your name?"

"Amela," she answered. "It's a variation of my mother name, Amelia, whose armor I inherited."

"Ah," Neimi said happily. "Amelia was my friend during the war. We used to stick together during the war. Did she ever get a pet like we agreed- Sorry," she said, suddenly flushed, "Probably the wrong time." She looked at the young knight in her red armor with concern.

"I'll take you to the stable and let give you our horse. Take it and ride to the garrison. Make sure they get here as fast as possible. Colm, you get over to the village and get them to evacuate as quickly as possible. All right." Colm nodded and ran from the room, sprinting down the road. Neimi followed and indicated for the Amela to follow. Soon, they were in the stable, moving towards a powerful brown horse with a black mane.

"This old girl got me through a few battles when I was a ranger during the war." Neimi told Amela. "She'll get you there safely." Amela nodded and mounted the horse while Neimi guided her outside.

"I won't be long." Amela said over her shoulder, spurring the horse on and riding off towards the east. Neimi watched for a few moments, then shouted for her to wait. Amela listened, and pulled her horse to a stop. She turned and entered the house where Zethla was inside, excitedly playing with a toy sword.

"What happened to the woman, mom?" he asked blissfully unaware of what was going on around him. "Did she ride away?"

"No." Neimi said with a smile on her face. "But she's going to, and I want you to go with her." The young child looked surprised and disappointed.

"Why Mom?" I can stay and help you." Neimi smiled and nodded. "I know you could honey, but that knight is wounded, and she needs someone to help protect her. So, why don't you grab your bow and follow me outside." Zethla, face now determinedly set in a grin, grabbed his little bow and arrows, and followed her outside. Amela looked like she might protest for a second, but then just nodded and turned her horse. Zethla waved after her, and Neimi found herself crying openly. But, she didn't feel overly sad. Her son was safe, and that was what was important.

* * *

Colm returned a half hour later, flipping from the roof to the inside of the house.

"They'll never get out of there in time." He reported. "They're still trying to gather there things and decide where to go." He plopped into his favorite chair, putting his feet up. He looked around, and his face fell.

"Where's Zethla?" He asked worriedly.

"I sent him away with Amela." Neimi answered without looking up from her bow. "I thought it was for the best." Colm nodded, and went back into their bedroom, opening an old wardrobe in which they kept old mementos from the war. He came back with two pearl handled knives thrust into his belt and an assortment of other weapons and supplies. In his hands, he had a rough steel sword wrapped in old cloth.

"You might need this." He said tossing it to her. Neimi grabbed it out of the air, and drew it. After twenty three years of lying in their wardrobe, the old weapon still looked as sharp as the day she'd put it down.

"If I need this," She said, "We'll be in major trouble, won't we?" Colm nodded, and drew one of his old knives, eyeing the edge.

"Yeah, but you know what we have to do."

Neimi looked into his eyes, and nodded. "Yeah."

* * *

Mal Nouveles was astride his horse, formerly the horse of the Renais commander who had been sent against him and his men. Now, he was following them. At least, his head was. The rest of his men were on foot, a motley collection of mercs and raiders. He signaled for his men to enter battle order, forming a long line so they could encircle the village quickly, and cut of any escape.

"Archers forward!" He roared, "Infantry follow and provide support." He smiled. One volley from his impressive collection of archers should be enough to convince the surprised villagers to surrender and pay any ransom he asked for their lives. While his troops surged through the woods and towards the village. He waited, listening for the tell tale sound of screaming villagers and the roars of combat.

A few minutes later, instead of screaming, all he heard was the sound of feet running from one of his messengers, bursting from the woods.

"Hey boss!" He yelled, "You'd better come and see this."

"What is it?" He asked, turning his horse towards where the messenger was pointing. "Have the villagers formed a resistance." The messenger shook his head, eyes a little wide.

"Just come and see."

* * *

Mal Nouveles had served in the War of the Stones. He'd been part of the defense of Jehanna, and had escaped before the Grado forces had overrun the castle. He'd been forced to survive against hordes of monsters and the revenge of his own people for fleeing. He'd become a mercenary and had fought at more battles than he could count. But he'd never seen anything like this.

In front of his forces, a lady, probably in her thirties or forties was standing, bow nocked, sword at her belt, unmoving in front of a large cabin. His archers had bows drawn and were aimed at the woman. His warriors were lined before her, axes, swords, and spears prepared and sharpened. She wore armor, just a padded leather tunic that allowed her free movement. There was no way she could survive a barrage of arrows.

"What do you want?" She shouted from across the little field.

"I'm afraid she's refused to leave sir." A nearby warrior whispered to him. "We sent eight men out to remove her, but…" he jerked his thumb towards a small pile of bodies piled to the right. "She just picked them off. Didn't even have to move." Mal nodded and spurred his horse forward. He turned it slightly to better see the woman.

"Move." He shouted with as much authority as he could muster.

"No." she shouted back. Mal shrugged, and turned to his men.

"Fire." He said simply. Now, Mal may have not given the order had he looked above him. Because, then he might have seen the thin, wiry man, hanging from the highest branch by his legs. He also may have noticed the knives held in each hand, and the slightly maniacal look on his face.

Of course, he didn't see any of that, though he did hear, after Colm had released the branch with his legs, letting him fall straight down onto the raider, the small voice murmur, "Bad choice buddy."

* * *

Colm hit the raider like a thunderbolt from above, both his knives digging into each of the man's shoulders. He continued falling, pulling the big man from his horse and throwing him to the ground. The archers and warriors around them stopped, immobilized by the sudden attack on their leader. Then, the archers turned to fire at him, loosing arrows at him. Colm swiftly leapt to the side, and threw both of his knives, where they buried themselves in the chest of two archers. Behind him, Colm could sensed a man swing a descending axe at him, but a second later, there was a twang and the man fell, clutching a arrow that was buried into his chest halfway up the shaft. Neimi was on one knee, bow in one hand and another arrow inn her other. Another twang and another warrior fell, knee shattered by a speeding dart.

Colm, who always preferred to have some tricks up his sleeves, literally, grabbed a thin wire that was attached to the sleeve of his cloak and pulled. The daggers that had been buried in his opponents up to the hilt and to which the wires were attatched, came flying out, spinning towards Colm, who grabbed them out of the air, and dropped into a fighting stance as the startled warriors began to rally, turning to face him.

They charged and Colm, dodging and blocking their attacks, backpedaled furiously, while spinning and trying to strike beneath their defenses. All the while, Neimi covered him from back in the house, her arrows hitting vital points with every small twang. Colm, realizing how pointless it was to keep meleeing against them, jumped back one last time, and threw both his knifes up into the branches. With a skillful tug of his arms, the knives twisted, spinning and securely wrapping the wires around a strong branch. Colm, who had moments before leapt backwards as far as he could, now swung forward into the crowd of thugs, using himself as a spinning battering ram.

The warriors, stunned by his ferocity, could only watch as Colm pulled himself up the wires like some type of primate, climbing into the branches. The remaining archers fired up into the trees blindly, but couldn't see him amongst the dense foliage. Besides, they had other things to worry about. From the field, Neimi was firing into their ranks.

Every shot was either lethal or crippling, thinning their ranks quickly. Still, there were still several dozens and more and more coming as they heard the commotion and rushed to help their comrades. A few of the archers turned and directed their fire at the girl, but every single one missed as Neimi, whose eyesight was so great she could track the arrows even as they sped towards her. She didn't dive out of the way, or run. All she did was twist slightly, and arm, or a leg, and the arrows shot by, missing her by inches. All the while, Neimi returned fire, felling more enemies. Finally, the commander of the bandits, bleeding, but still alive, ordered his men to bring out their secret weapon; a ballista they'd built up in their mountain fortress for the intention of bombarding the village. Now though, he seemed to believe they needed it to take down a wiry old man and a kind mother.

* * *

Colm and Neimi were good. From his perch up in the treetops, Colm could see the bandit grouped was backed up all the way to their supply train. He could also see that there were at least two hundred more, all converging on their position. Colm groaned a little, then dropped from his perch into a crowd of enemies. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

It was sunset; yet, Neimi felt she could see perfectly. It was a bright full moon today, and the soldiers charging across the field to their cabin were perfectly illuminated for the moments before her arrows cut them down. Colm was besides her, guarding the doorway while she fired through the windows.

"Franz should be here any second." He whispered as the wave of bandits continued forward. "How many arrows do you have left?"

"Three." She said as she loosed her fourth one. Another volley of arrows hit their house, punching holes through the wood. Reaching out through the window, she pulled a shaft out, nocked it into her bow and sent it back. "But I don't think a shortage of arrows is the problem." Colm nodded, and with a small wink, jumped outside, fighting and holding the door against the oncoming horde. He was skilled, but over the last several hours, he had gradually gathered an impressive collection of minor wounds from the bandits. A spear had managed to prick his arm and leg while his left shoulder had a gash from the sword of a mercenary.

One of them, Colm recognized him as the leader, was rushing towards him, swing an enormous sword at him. Colm, recognizing a fight he couldn't win head to head decided to do the unorthodox. Standing his ground, when the man was within arm's length of him and beginning his downward scythe, Colm reached forward, catching the man's elbow and brought his knee up into the fork of his legs.

The man looked at him for a second, but then groaned, his face a mask of fury, and fell to his knees. Colm grinned a little and flipped backwards into his home. The commander's followers howled with fury and charged, but stopped when Colm slammed the door shut, barring it.

"That won't hold them for long." He said, his back to the door, arms spread and bracing himself as the men outside battered it.

"I know." Neimi said shutting the shutters of the window tightly. The bars they were using to shut the openings were made of iron, an extra piece of protection a slightly paranoid Colm had made to better protect his wife and son. "We just need to hold out for a little longer though I bet-"

She was interrupted by the sound of shattering wood and Colm groaning as he looked down at his stomach. The big sword of the commander had gone through the wood and into his stomach with a dull crunch, leaving Colm looking at Neimi shocked. He fell forward, staggering into the center of the cabin in a crumpled heap. Tears sprang unbidden to her eyes as she looked at her husband and oldest best friend. Grabbing his arm, she picked him up and helped him into their bedroom, drawing her sword with her other hand. Colm shuddered and stumbled, crawling into a sitting position at the foot of the bed while Neimi collapsed by the doorway to the bedroom.

"Life's a big surprise, huh." Colm said rolling his head back, breathing hard. "Never thought we'd be the ones to die in battle. I would have expected it from the mercenaries, or maybe those royal types like Ephraim or Innes. But us? Jeez." Colm shifted a little and winced in pain. Neimi's eyes dripped tears when he groaned in pain.

"Oh, come on Neimi." He said as cheerfully as he could. "Remember what I said to you, all that time ago." Neimi thought, wondering for a moment what time he was talking about. But deep inside, she knew immediately.

"Only you…sniff… can make me cry." She said through her sniffles. Colm nodded, tossing her his pearl studded knives.

"That's right. Now, when they come in, I'll distract them, and you make a run for it, all right." He tried to get to his feet, but collapsed a second later. Neimi shook her head.

"No Colm…sniff…we stick together no matter what. Understand." Colm groaned, and shook his head.

"Fine. I'm too tired to fight you anyways." He looked at the wall to his right, as though there was a window he could see through. "Think the villagers will get away?" Neimi nodded. They'd certaintly bought them some time.

"And Zethla?"She asked.

"He'll be fine." Colm said. "Amela took him out of here, right?" Neimi nodded, but still looked worried.

"I meant, without…us."

Colm lowered his head, feeling the sadness of never seeing his son again crash around him. The boy was like a mirror image of him. Except his eyes. He had his mothers beautiful eyes. Colm looked up at Neimi, who had her sword drawn and was watching as the men outside began hacking through the front door. She was so beautiful. Ever since they'd been little, they'd looked after each other. Neimi had saved Colm from being shot by her grandfather, Zethla, when he'd… man, what had he done? It was all so long ago.

He did however, remember the day their village had been destroyed by bandits. They'd killed everyone, leaving Neimi and Colm to escape. Colm, however had pursued the bandits because they'd stolen Neimi's mirror, which had belonged to her mother. Colm had pursued them, but Neimi had pursued him, bringing Princess Erika's company of warriors with her. He'd been dismayed when they captured him, but, in the end, it had been a blessing in disguise. He still thought he could have taken those raiding cowards, but his travels after that were what caused him to finally open up to Neimi.

The irony of it all. Escaping the bandits years ago to only die now. A loud bang rang from the front of the room jerked his thoughts back to the present. They were almost through.

"Hey Neimi," he said turning towards him, "You know I love you. Right?" Neimi smiled sadly again.

"I love you too." Colm nodded, and, forcing himself to his feet, staggered to the cupboard and swung it open. Inside, among all the little tidbits from their travels together, was a bag. He picked it up, opening it. It was a little bag that Colm had found during a battle in the volcanoes in the east. It was some type of power that exploded when it a fire. He suspected that was why that area always seemed to be aflame. Taking the small bag out, he staggered back to the foot of the bed.

"Say Neimi, would you mind-" He was interrupted as the door fell forward and the big leading raider stepped in. The bar they'd used to lock the door lay on the ground, a twisted mess.

"Wait." He said, raising his hand in a signal to his men. "They are mine." Drawing his huge weapon, he advanced, but stopped when Neimi leapt in front of him, sword drawn.

"Girly." He growled at her. "Normally, I'd let you stick around. I've got some lonely men here who could use some…companionship. Why don't you drop the little sword, huh?" As an answer, she took a step forward, and brought her sword down, aiming at his head. He caught the blade on his own, and pushed her back sheer with brute force.

"All right pretty." He said, spinning his sword over his head. His men fled the room, watching from outside. "Looks like I need to break you first." And Neimi, face still wet with tears, locked her face in a defiant look and held her hands low, in a two handed guard.

She'd learned swordplay during the war, along with how to ride, in order to battle as a ranger. Even being trained by men like Gerik and Seth, she'd never had a knack for it and had never mastered it. Her strikes were clumsy and all she could do to defend was try and deflect the brunt of his strength away from her. Even then, she soon realized that the man was playing with her. He was having fun, as if it was all sport. Or maybe he truly thought he could break her.

Either way, what he didn't expect was for her, when he counter attacked next, to not even bother blocking the blow. Instead, when he made an almost theatrical thrust toward her side, she merely stepped into it, swinging her own sword toward his head. It hit him, slashing across his left eye and he fell back, clutching his face and howling, cursing her. Neimi fell backwards, letting the blade slide from her own side. She collapsed on the floor as the raider, a smart man who was unwilling to fight an already lost fight, staggered from the house.

His men surrounded him, helping him to his feet and carrying him back towards their camp.

"I don't care about the loot anymore!" He roared at his underlings. "Have the ballista's target the house. Cover the tips with oil and set them aflame. Burn them out."

* * *

Back in the cabin, Colm could only watch in horror as Neimi dragged herself back towards him, bleeding profusely from her side. She crawled next to him, holding him around the waste.

"Shame." He said a little distantly. "I was hoping one of us would be able to grab that candle over there." He pointed at the small hanging candle in the kitchen over their table.

"W-Why?" Neimi asked through her coughs. There was flecks blood in each hack.

"Just a little surprise." Colm answered with his characteristic grin, hefting the bag. "But I needed some fire to make it work." At that moment, a heavy ballista bolt smashed through their roof and landed on the ground a couple yards from them. The bolt's tip was burning fiercely, and the floor beneath it soon caught fire as well.

"Well," Colm said, looking up through the hole in the roof. "Thank you." He said to no one in particular.

"Someone's looking out for us." Neimi said with a faint smile on her face.

Colm snorted. "You've been listening to Artur too much." Neimi fiddled with the glove on her hand. It had belonged to her grandfather. Its beautiful embroidery was covered in blood from her wound.

"Here," Colm said, holding out his hand. "Give me one of your arrows and my knives." Neimi obliged, pulling one of her last arrows from her quiver. Colm used one of his knives to cut the sheets from their bed, wrapping them around the tip of the arrow so that it would still fly straight.

"Now," he said handing it back to her. "Can you still shoot?" Neimi nodded and nocked the arrow onto her bow.

"Can you run?" She joked sadly.

"Not anymore."

He smiled.

She smiled.

And for several moments, there was no raging horde outside their house. No fire burning around them. No blood or pain to distract them. There was just them, sitting together, alone in their house.

Colm looked into Neimi's eyes and felt her hair in his fingers. She'd grown it out after the war, after Colm had teased her for how much she looked like a boy. She still remembered how she had looked on their wedding day. It had been attended by Ephraim, Erica, and nearly all their old companions. Colm remembered how she'd had a ribbon tied into her hair and how her eyes had gleamed with joy and tears as she walked down the aisle. She'd cried a little, but that was okay. After all, they were tears of joy.

After Father Moulder had finished their vows, there had been sports and games to celebrate. Colm remembered laughing as Neimi stood up for the archery contest, still in her wedding gown. She'd won, beating out all the contenders (Though to be fair, Innes had declined to compete, saying "There would be no contest." Colm still thought he'd been scared to lose to a girl). The men all gathered, toasting Colm's new wife, while the woman all gossiped and talked to Neimi about…other stuff. Colm didn't really know what girls talked about. Strange considering that he'd been married to one for so long, and didn't know that answer.

He looked at Neimi, staring deep into her eyes, and didn't see sadness, or fear, or even happiness for that matter. There was pure Love. Love didn't always equal happiness, and it certainly didn't equal fear or sadness. Not true love. And for once, Colm felt absolutely content. He'd been a thief, the most successful thief he knew. He'd stolen her heart.

"_Hah,"_ he thought, remembering his old rival thief from the war, "_Suck it Rennac."_ Then, he pulled her in, kissing her. Everything around them smelled of smoke and blood and death. But there, right there at that moment, there was only the smell of Neimi's hair. It smelled like spring flowers and the woods around them. It smelled like their son, who Colm knew was far away from her, riding away from the horrors around them. It smelled like everything he held dear in his life. And for once, Colm didn't worry about living. Dying after this was enough. A second later, boots tramped into the living room from through the front door. Leading them was some greedy looking pig face man, with eyes that eyed the two of them gleefully.

"It's all right!" He called, drawing his sword. "They're almost dead." At that moment, Colm realized just how wounded he was. He hacked and coughed, his lungs filled with a combination of blood and smoke. Turning to Neimi, he took a deep breath.

"Looks like we've got unwelcome guests hun." He grinned, as cockily as he could. "Shall we show them to the door?" She nodded no longer crying. And then, several things happened at once.

Colm, who could see with his keen eyesight that the thug was about ten feet away and very thin, decided that he didn't quite want to die yet. Hefting the sack full of the strange exploding powder, he tossed it to the man, yelling "Here!"

The man, who had the intelligence of a concussed turtle and was just as greedy as he was stupid, caught the bag, thinking it was some type of peace offering meant to convince them to let them go. He was shocked to find, when he opened it, that it was not, in fact, filled with gold or jewels, but apparently worthless black powder.

All the while, Neimi, with much great effort and pain, stretched out her hand that was holding the cloth covered arrow, sticking it into the spreading flames. The sheets caught quickly, and a second later, Neimi nocked the arrow, and drew the bow. She found, looking down the shaft, that she could barely see the small bag. The combination of smoke, pain, and her own tears, blinded her.

"No time to…sniff…cry." She said to herself, and she loosed the arrow, throwing all her hopes and dreams into that one shaft. And for a second, as some unnatural wind had blown it away, the smoke cleared, and the piggish brigand looked down to see his hands were pierced by a flaming arrow shaft, and that the supposedly worthless powder in his hands, had quickly caught fire.

When he looked up, he was disappointed to realize the last thing he would see was some beautiful woman smiling triumphantly while her husband made as obscene a gesture as he could with his left hand while his right held his wife close. Then the world burst into flame, and he was no more.

* * *

Colm and Neimi were still alive. Of course, Neimi began to think that it might have been better if they'd just died during the explosion. Then she wouldn't have to think about the massive board that was crushing her.

She looked over to Colm, who was looking at her. His neck was crushed by a large beam, but he was still alive. And Colm, for the first time in his life that Neimi could remember, cried in front of Neimi. He was mouthing the same words, over and over again.

"_I love you."_

Neimi nodded, smiling sadly at him. He smiled back.

"I love you too." Then, together, holding hands, they died.

* * *

As the brigands dug through the remnants of the cabin, they were in somewhat of a shock over how much damage had been done. Not that they cared about their companions. There was just no loot to be found anywhere. When they finally found the two who had given them so much trouble, they dragged them out, planning to strip them of anything useful. The blue haired guy's pearl handled knives were being fought over by the group when Mal arrived, laying about them with the flat of his big sword.

"Give me the knives." He growled at a brigand who looked like he'd just seen his own death before his eyes. Mal's eye was bandage and he looked ready for murder. The man tossed them to the brigand leader without hesitation. Then, the leader went about stripping them. He took blue hair's cloak, admiring its texture, and the girl's embroidered glove. Mal admired the way it formed around his hand, fitting him.

"Thanks you two." He said to their fallen figures. "Oh, by the way, I believe I owe you two." Raising his foot, he began kicking them, defacing them, tearing their skin and breaking their bones. At the end, he spat on their bodies, and turned to his men.

"Let's go."

* * *

The brigands were moving along the road to the village, intent on stripping it for whatever loot they could find. After all, the villagers had left in a hurry. There was an excellent chance most of their goods had been left behind. As the village came into sight, the brigands roared in triumph. The broke ranks, charging towards the city, each planning to grab the best loot for themselves. A second later, everything fell apart.

A volley of arrows from the east side of the road, where the hills rose high against the morning sun. A line of archers were raining shafts that ate through the brigand ranks while a long line of cavaliers rode wildly down the hill, led by a paladin in green armor with blond hair seeping from his helmet. Besides him, two blond haired women cantered after him, one wearing red armor of a cavalier, the other, unarmored, but wielding an elegantly crafted spear with so much skill, she didn't need one.

Mal tried to turn his men to meet this new threat, but from the supposedly abandoned town, another force attacked, led by a man with a bushy grey beard, who wielded his war hammer with little regard for his own life. Besides him, probably equal in strength, but younger, was a man who could have been his son. His axe whirled and spun like a dervish, beheading brigands and breaking armor. Following them were two magic users, a red haired bishop judging by his robes and a dark haired woman who cut holes into the brigand lines with bursts of lightning and fire.

It was over in moments. Mal tried to run, spurring his horse in retreat, but before he could, a young knight in red armor caught up to him, hurling her javelin at him from behind. He fell over, rolling in the mud as his horse continued on without him. He struggled to his feet, but fell to his knees as a second sharp pain in his shoulder caused him to grit his teeth in pain.

"Gah!" he said struggling to his feet, he turned, swinging his axe, planning to behead the knight before he could attack. A second later, he was staring at a stump of a hand. The knight continued, forward, bringing his sword down, slashing a diagonal gash into his chest.

"You killed me." He said in shock, looking up at the knight. The knight pulled the helmet from her head, and brought her sword up above her head.

"Yes." She said, "And it's a justice." Her sword fell, beheading the man.

* * *

Two hours later, Franz, Amelia, Garcia, Ross, Lute, and Artur were riding along the road. They were quiet, unsure about how they felt. All of them were hopeful of course, but as Lute so logically pointed out, there was a reason their army had managed to get there before the brigands had. It took a while to get a couple hundred knights mounted and moving.

When they came to the ruins of the cabin, Franz was glad they'd left little Zethla back with the army. The charred remains of the home were still smoldering and the smoke was thick. There was nothing left, except a pair of bodies outside the home. When Franz saw them up close, his hands were shaking.

Evidently, the brigands hadn't thought it enough to kill them. Dismounting, their little group gathered around. Artur quickly rushed to Neimi, checking her pulse and placing his healing staff on her chest, but Lute touched his shoulder, shaking her head sadly. Amelia looked away, silently crying into Franz's shoulder. Franz held her in her arms, trying to comfort her. She looked around for Amela, and saw she was kneeling in front of them. She reached into a pack she'd carried from the battlefield, and began unpacking it, laying the items on the ground in front of her. It was an embroidered glove and a cloak wrapped around a pair of pearl handles. She gently placed them on their chests, bowing her head.

* * *

The funeral was several months later. Everyone was there. Franz carried Colm's coffin down towards the tomb for the soldiers of Renais, alongside Father Moulder, Marisa, Rennac, Kyle, and Seth. Neimi's was carried by Amelia and her daughter. They were joined by Gilliam, Garcia, Artur, and Forde. Everyone was very quiet and very sad. It was a big. Royalty came and all the great warriors from the war had come. All the prince's and princess's were kings and queens now, all the fathers grandfathers, the sons, grown men. Colm would have probably thought it was stupid, but would have like the attention. Neimi would have cried.

As the coffins were sealed within the tomb, Franz couldn't help but muse that someday they would all be placed in there, and that their children would be all that was left of them. Besides him, Zethla was crying silently while Prince Ephraim made a speech about how noble their sacrifice had been. Still, that didn't change how wrong their deaths had been.

"We're the ones who are supposed to die, not them." Amelia whispered to Franz. "This is wrong. We should have been faster." Franz was quiet. Amelia had retired her commission soon after Amela had become a knight. She shouldn't be beating herself up about this. But she was right. They'd ridden as hard as they could, as fast as they could, but somehow, good hadn't won. Not completely.

"A good knight once said to me, that we can only fight the dark for a time. We all have to fall asleep eventually." He smiled down at her. "We're still here, so we'll keep fighting. For them." He finished looking on as the tomb closed with a loud thud. Amelia nodded and stepped forward alongside Franz. Together, they drew a flower each. The Mortelchio, a small blue flower that bloomed upwards. Its red petals had streaks of purple in it, violet lines that spiraled up and down it.

Franz thought to himself, _"Huh, it looks just like their hair."_ Quietly, they laid the flowers atop the doorway of the tomb and stepped away. Here was a moment of silence, and then a soft pattering sound as the rain began to fall.

Franz thought he could almost hear Colm's voice saying, "Don't cry Neimi."

**_Thanks for reading. I hope you all enjoyed. If you want me to write more, please review and tell me. If not...I've got other projects to do._**


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